Within These Castle Walls
by Tonight.At.Noon
Summary: As penance for her mother's crimes, Mal has been locked in a tower since birth, raised by the Queen to marry her son, Prince Benjamin. One week before the wedding, on her eighteenth birthday, the purple-haired girl is taken to the castle. She meets her betrothed and soon realises he has been keeping a secret that could destroy them both. (AU). (Mild sexual content warning for Ch3)
1. One

**A/N:** I never thought I would be writing for a Disney Channel Original Movie, let me tell you that much. But here I am, this story finally fleshed out after having been planned since the first _Descendants_ film aired.

There will be three parts. There will be darker subject matter (such as snippets of abuse and brief moments of sexuality) than in the films. This, I promise you, will not be everybody's cup of tea. I have a feeling lots of you won't like it. But this is for those of who will, whoever you may be.

One thing before we start: This is an AU. Completely AU. The story is set in Auradon, there is an Isle of the Lost, and there are still descendants of Disney characters. However, I have changed just about everything else. You'll understand what when you start reading. Basically, this is how I would have done it if I were in charge.

That being said, **NOTHING BELONGS TO ME. I AM DOING THIS FOR FUN. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.**

Enjoy, guys!

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 **Within These Castle Walls |** **One**

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 **Part i: The Tower**

She is a modern day Rapunzel, stolen from her mother and stored away in a tower since the day she was born. Except she is no princess, not even secretly. She knows this because each time the Queen—the true Queen, who wears a crown decorated with the finest jewels and is married to the true King—comes to her tower, she is reminded painfully how low on the totem pole she sits. The Queen tells her how worthless she is. Never in so many words, but the way she speaks to her, with a hint of disgust attached to each syllable, conveys the message well enough. She may be the spawn of Maleficent, the most evil woman in Auradon's history, but she is hardly stupid.

Loneliness is all that surrounds her in the tower, which is risen one-hundred feet off of the ground. Over the years, she has grown used to it. She has never seen the bottom of her brick tower, but she likes to think beneath the base is an immovable cloud that keeps her spire levitating. It is the sort of thing the Fairy Godmother, the only person in Auradon aside from herself capable of harnessing power, would do. Place the evil little girl atop a cloud as if it will somehow stop the nastiness of her heritage from reaching her.

Though she isn't little anymore. Tomorrow is her eighteenth birthday.

Tomorrow she will finally be released from her tower.

The thought causes the acidic bile in her stomach to rise into her throat and burn her tongue. For although she is being allowed to leave the room she has known all of her life, she is not really being set free. She is merely being thrust from one prison to another. From the tower straight into the arms of the Prince of Auradon—a boy she has never met; her betrothed.

In the days when evil ran rampant through the streets, before the King decreed that each villain be placed on the island across the sea from Auradon, her mother was the wickedest creature its people had ever faced. After years of tearing through the kingdom and ruining everything good and pure in their wake, each criminal, including her mother, was captured. Stripped of their powers, they were sent across the ocean to the Isle of the Lost, all except Maleficent. The Kingdom of Auradon had never before put a lawbreaker to death, but due to the nature of the crimes her mother committed, the King and Queen were tempted to make a true example of Princess Aurora's tormentor. Until the Fairy Godmother put a stop to it, Maleficent would very well have been the first person to join Auradon's Death Row.

However, the King and Queen knew they could not simply let her mother live out her life peacefully on the Isle of the Lost, and quickly came up with a punishment fit for her evil deeds.

Take her daughter, the Queen had said. Like she took our dear friend's. We will lock her spawn away until she reaches the age of womanhood, and once the moon sets on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, we shall keep her here in Auradon to live among the good. Never will she know her mother. That will be Maleficent's punishment.

It wasn't until Maleficent had screamed in turmoil at the thought of losing her daughter to the virtuous citizens of Auradon that the Queen ordered her daughter also be married to their son. Maleficent, torn from the inside by grief, wailed so loudly at this the Queen became satisfied with her decree and snatched Maleficent's daughter, weeks old at the time, from her arms and carried her over from the island where she was locked in a floating tower away from the people of Auradon.

And now, nearly eighteen years later, her time in this tower is nearing the end. She wishes it weren't. Despite how achingly alone she is, separated from all of humanity, she can be herself up here. Yes, she has no access to her powers—she never will, it is something she has come to accept—but she does not have to pretend to be good when it is only herself. When she is released tomorrow at sunrise she will be forced to wear a mask of honour and nobility. Then, in a week's time on the Prince's eighteenth birthday, she will be forced to marry him, and through that marriage the mask will be locked in place. She will never lose her true nature—it will follow her like a ghost, trail behind her in the form of a shadow—but she will forever be denying evil is a part of her.

Mal sits at her desk by the lone, open window of her tower, dreading sundown. It is springtime now. Warmth seeps through the open space and hits her pale skin. She squints in the sunlight and stares down at the green grass one-hundred-and-twenty feet below her. Her tower is surrounded by trees and the Fairy Godmother has made it so she is invisible to the naked eye, but she can still see everything. A kindness undeserved by her, but one she appreciates nonetheless.

Flowers have started blooming. From where she sits, so far above them, they look nothing more than pink and white and blue dots. She knows how silly it is, but she wants so badly to sit among the field of blossoms. Their scent drifts to her nostrils and she breathes in their sweet perfume, wishing she could bottle the fragrance and lather it over her skin. She has a lavatory up here, of course, but the soaps provided by the Queen dry her skin and are foul-smelling. Perhaps when she is finally on the ground she will be able to access a new array of scents. As trivial as it sounds to her own mind, that is something she looks forward to.

Above the noise of the birds, which, when the warmth returned to Auradon, began waking her before the sun and who do not cease their racket until late into the dusk, Mal hears the sound of two people running through the forest. She recognises their footfalls immediately, and pokes her head out of the window to spy the boy and the girl bursting into the clearing by her tower. She has been watching them for over a year now. At first, she felt strange witnessing their meetings. Clearly they are meant to be secret, but she soon became too intrigued and fascinated with their story to mind her own apprehensiveness.

Like the flowers, the boy and the girl appear to be smaller than her hand, but there is something about them that causes her to perceive them as being so much larger. Perhaps it is the amount of love she can sense radiating from them. She has read enough about the emotion from the books the Queen stores in her room to know that it does wild stuff to the body and brain. She knows it can change people's perception of the world, both of those who are in love and those who are witnesses to it.

Today, they hold each other as they lay on the vibrant grass. Sometimes they argue, so loud their voices carry and Mal is able to decipher what they are saying. It is the same quarrel each time.

I can't do anything about it! he will shout. I have no power over my life. There is nothing I can do!

I understand, she will respond. I know you've no control over the things that are going to happen, but we can always rewrite history. We can always change the story.

We can't, he will say, a mixture of sadness and anger engulfing him.

We can run away, she will say half-heartedly. Run off into the sunset like we always talked about.

Mal can never hear what comes next. They close in on each other after the girl says that.

Those days end in apologies and long embraces.

Other times they are already locked together when she notices them, their clothes strewn about the field. They are dressed now, though, and Mal notices a twinge of melancholy in their closeness. It suddenly is so powerful, she must turn from the window to catch her breath. Perhaps, she wonders as she forces herself to keep her eyes averted from the open space, she will meet them when she enters the Kingdom as its Princess in the coming days.

The urge to spy on them once more overpowers Mal, and she peeks through the window. Laying in the grass, the flowers bent and crushed beneath their bodies, they are wrapped in each other's arms. She hears the girl crying, her head pressed against the boy's chest. He soothes a hand down her back over and over. Mal watches the girl shake, not at all comforted by the boy's touch.

Something has happened. Something has changed. The boy kisses the girl's head. His eyes are closed, and Mal sees his face bunch as if he is fighting off sobs of his own.

True love. This is the sort of thing her mother fought against. Despite everything—her heritage, her understanding that the people of Auradon are to blame for her eternal suffering—this is the sort of thing Mal desires. Love was lost on her in her youth. She has never felt the caring touch of a person who holds her in their heart. The only hand she knows is that of the Queen, and that is a harsh hand that grabs at Mal's chin whenever the Queen enters her tower in a beastly mood.

The boy and girl have stopped crying. They are attached now. Half of their clothes have been stripped from their bodies, and Mal watches as the boy presses his mouth to every inch of the girl's chest. She throws her head back, hands curling in the boy's hair, keeping him pressed against her.

Mal's stomach makes a loud gurgling noise. She has not eaten today. Coming away from the window, Mal walks over to the small pantry filled with bitter food the Queen keeps stocked in the tower. If she does not eat, the Queen will be furious. She has attempted to go on hunger strikes before, but the moment she grows too skinny the Queen will hold her and stuff spoons of porridge in her mouth.

You will eat! the Queen says. I can't have you too small lest your monthly cycle cease. This body must produce an heir.

Rubbing a hand against her flat stomach, a shot of anger spikes Mal's bloodstream. She never asked for this life. Never believed, even as she grew up in this Godforsaken tower, she would one day be forced to bear a child with the descendant of her mother's enemies. If the window in her tower were not protected by a forcefield, Mal would jump from the ledge. She would happily tumble one-hundred-and-twenty-feet to the ground to escape this wretched life.

But there is a forcefield, thanks to the Fairy Godmother. There is no chance for freedom. Tomorrow, she will be taken from this place and hurried inside the King and Queen's castle walls where she will live out her days a prisoner of the royal court.

Mal knows it is fruitless to be so embittered by her situation. Her mother _is_ in part responsible for the way her life has turned out, though she does enjoy solely accusing Auradon. Like the boy hiding in the field with his true love, there is nothing she can do. Her path has been paved for her. But she is the daughter of pure evil, and she will hold on to this rage for as long as the King and Queen allow her to live.

Sucking in a breath, Mal drops her hand and stares at the cupboard of food. Reaching inside, she grabs a packet of oats.

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 **Part ii: Auradon**

Before even the birds have started singing the following morning, Mal is rudely awakened by the Queen bursting into her room. Groggily, she sits up and watches the magnificent monarch switch on the main light in the tower, which blinds Mal for a moment.

"Up," the Queen orders, snapping her long, blue-painted fingers. Her dress, yellow in colour, sways as she moves quickly around the tower, gathering things in a bag for Mal's first trek into the Kingdom. Cruel or not, she is the only motherly figure Mal has known, and despite how deeply she hates her, Mal does have to admit the Queen takes care of her, minute though the caring is.

Mal throws her duvet off of her body and swings her legs over the side of her bed. She is no longer sleepy. The realisation that it is her birthday and she is leaving the tower for good has filled her body with powerful adrenaline and she is feeling buzzed with a mixture of excitement and nerves and pure dread. On the door of her lavatory the Queen has hung up a silver dress with a tight-fitting bodice and long skirt. Anybody would look like royalty inside that. Even Mal. She reaches out to touch it. The fabric is softer than she had anticipated. It feels like silk. In spite of what this day will bring, Mal's lips pull outwards in a small, wondrous smile.

"Bathe and change into this. I will be waiting out here for you. Be quick, child—the Kingdom is anxiously awaiting your arrival," the Queen tells her, shoving her back so she trips inside the bathroom.

Once inside, Mal shuts the door and undresses. As she waits for the bath to fill, she stares at herself in the full-length mirror provided. Because she has just been pulled from sleep, her deep purple hair is tangled in wild knots and the skin beneath her green eyes is grey and puffed. Other than these slight impurities, her skin is soft and free of blemishes, and her cheeks are tinted like pale rose petals. Inspecting the rest of her body, she notices how slim she has become in the days leading up to her birthday. Bones that once were hidden are now tightly pressed against her skin. The Queen will not be pleased.

The Prince—perhaps he will not mind her imperfections. Not that his minding will do him any good. Neither of them had a say in their pairing. Mal has no expectations for their arranged marriage. Growing up in a tower forced her at a very young age to realise that she will live a loveless life. She will pay the price for her mother's wickedness, grow large with a baby or two, and die alone while the Prince pretends she does not exist. Auradon will not mourn her passing, for although the Queen says they are waiting to meet her, it is nothing more than morbid curiosity. Like the Prince, they will soon grow tired of being fascinated with her and move on with their carefree lives.

 **—** **—** **—**

Despite the Queen's words, there is no crowd of townspeople cheering as she arrives at the castle in the royal carriage. The sun has barley begun to rise above the snowy-tipped mountains beyond Auradon, and Mal assumes the Queen's decision to move her in the early hours of the morning was a purely strategical move. She does not know, but Mal would be unsurprised to learn the Kingdom is aware of her origin. A mob would surely have met them if the people knew the specific time she was to be moved into the castle.

Mal's eyes have been wide with awe since the carriage pulled away from her tower. She has had little time to feel anxious, and with the sights around her growing increasingly captivating, she has forgotten altogether to be frightened. The roads in Auradon are cobblestoned and wide enough to fit both carriages and those wishing to wander on foot. There are cottages every which way and shops of all sorts lining the streets.

The horses pulling their carriage slow to a trot. Mal stares out the opening in the carriage, her throat closing as her eyes catch upon the great castle. It grows larger as they approach, and Mal thinks she has never seen anything so spectacular. There is a large history of Auradon on her bookshelf in the tower. Three full chapters are dedicated to the white-spired castle—from its construction five centuries ago to when the King and Queen took over as rulers of Auradon. There are pictures in the book. She has studied those images for years, sees them when she closes her eyes, and yet they could never have prepared her for this moment. Sunlight hits the pointed tips of the pyramidal structures of each tower. Birds fly over the castle, singing their sweet tune.

"Now," the Queen begins when the carriage comes to a halt. She steps out of the carriage and beckons Mal to follow. The girl does so willingly, smoothing her skirts as she leaps beside her captor. "Once you are inside the walls of this castle, you are not to leave under any circumstances unless accompanied by either the King or myself, my son, or a designated servant. Do you understand?"

Looking up at the Queen, Mal tilts her head and nods. She holds in a snarl. Of course she knows she will not be allowed to leave the castle. The Queen's condescending words fill Mal with droplets of dread. The walls of the castle are a prison just the same as her tower was. No matter its outward beauty, it will be ugly on the inside.

"Answer me with your words, child," the Queen demands.

Biting back a cruel retort, Mal says, "Yes, Queen Belle. I understand."

"Good. The Fairy Godmother has cast numerous spells over the grounds to keep you from escaping. There is a garden at the back of the castle you will be permitted to enter, but only for one hour each day," the Queen says. She walks towards the castle doors and Mal follows close behind, her focus wavering as she takes in more of what will be her new home. "You will occupy the tallest room of the tallest tower, located at the very tip of the West Wing. My husband and myself are in the East Wing, but my son will be nearest yourself. His room is below your own. There is also a library should you wish to occupy your time with reading. As soon as we enter the castle, I will take you to meet the King, the Prince, and the Fairy Godmother."

"To bind my powers?" Mal asks, wishing she had kept her mouth shut as soon as she catches the Queen's venomous expression.

"Yes, child," she hisses. "To bind your filthy powers."

When she was five, not yet old enough to understand the abnormality of her living quarters, the Queen entered Mal's tower to find her lying on her back in the centre of the room, her favourite books dancing above her head. Mal does not know how it happened. She remembers waving her hand over the bookcase, surprise filling her when _The Three Little Pigs and the Big Bad Wolf_ , _The Isle of the Lost and its Inhabitants_ , and _The Little Mermaid_ shot out.

Since that day, the Fairy Godmother has been in charge of binding Mal's powers. She waves her magic wand and Mal feels the mystical energy inside of her shrivelling up. It is painful. Like somebody is reaching inside of her and crushing her soul with their bare hand. But the Queen cannot have her prancing about in possession of her full range of powers. Every year on her birthday, the binding spell must be cast.

The pair reach the castle doors. From a pouch hanging off her wrist, the Queen produces a golden key. She inserts it into the door's lock and turns. Mal hears a clanging noise and without having to push against the wooden planks, the doors open by themselves. The Queen grabs ahold of Mal's wrist and pulls her inside the castle.

Again, Mal realises how poor of a representation those pictures inside the book of Auradon's history were. This castle is magnificent if she can look past what it represents. A marvellous chandelier hangs above the large staircase. Three people stand below the bottom step, the burning lights from the chandelier acting as a spotlight. Mal does not look at them yet—she is too busy taking in the sights. There are doors to her left and right, but both are closed off. She smells food from the right, however, and, as her stomach makes a small whining noise, she can deduce that one of those doors hides the kitchen.

"Ahem."

Mal startles. The Queen's rough, phlegmy voice hits her ears.

"Pay attention, child," she says, squeezing Mal's wrist tighter. She drags the purple-haired girl closer to the staircase.

Worried she may trip, Mal treads carefully, keeping her eyes downturned in order to watch where she is stepping. The marble that acts as the castle floor is slippery in certain places. She stops moving when the Queen does and she slowly lifts her gaze, landing first on the King.

"My husband," the Queen announces, as if Mal did not already know. The older man bows his head, and Mal reluctantly holds her skirt with her free hand and curtseys for him. "And this," the Queen says as Mal's heart creeps up her throat, strangling her with fear, "is my son, Benjamin."

She does not want to, but Mal moves her eyes from the ageing King to her betrothed. Eyes swelling, Mal's heart takes one final leap on top of her tongue. She tastes blood. Her jaw springs apart and she feels herself sinking to the floor. If it weren't for the Queen's iron grip on her wrist, she would surely have collapsed.

It can't be him, she reasons. There is no way it is him. Although, the longer she spends staring at the Prince, the more she starts to believe it is him. That boy is all colours to her, and the boy—the almost-man—standing in front of her matches those colours exactly. His hair is the same shade of muted brown with small strips of burnt gold. His skin has the same pink undertones. He wears the same blues and golds.

He offers her nothing in the way of greeting. No matter—she could not respond if she wanted to. Her mind is sizzling. An unfocused mess, trying to piece together a blurry puzzle. Her own name has leaked from her ears.

"Bow to your Prince, child," the Queen orders, again tightening her grip. Awakened, Mal bends her knees. She struggles to right herself, and the Queen is forced to come to her aid. "Benjamin, greet your future bride."

The Prince stares blankly at Mal save for the tiniest glint of ire in his blue eyes. He holds out his hand upon which lies a ring in the shape of a crown on his first finger. Mal lifts her spare arm and takes his hand. It is cold. Dry. He holds her fingers so lightly she can barely feel him. It's as if she is diseased.

She is the first to break contact. Her arm falls limply by her side.

"And you of course know the Fairy Godmother," the Queen says, and Mal finally pulls her eyes away from the Prince. She looks at the plump Fairy Godmother, knowing her powers, which have been growing all year, will soon be sucked from her bones.

"Fairy Godmother," Mal says.

"Mal, my dear. You look well," the Fairy Godmother praises, a genuine spark of pleasure in her voice.

Mal says nothing in response. She does not look well. She looks frightened and half-dead. The dress she wears hangs off her bones.

"I will take Mal into the library," the Queen says. She looks to her husband and son. "Find something to occupy your time until I return."

Prince Benjamin and his father abandon the staircase and go off to the left. Mal watches after them for as long as she can, taking in the sight of a billiards room before the Queen pulls her up the steps. As they reach the top of the main staircase, Mal looks up at the small stain glass window depicting the King and Queen's coronation. Gentle light streams through, and Mal turns her head to see the colours bathe the marble floor.

Heading up the West Staircase, the Queen, followed by Mal and the Fairy Godmother, trek up the stairs until they reach the library. Books surround Mal the moment she enters. Each wall is a shelf that reaches the top of the room, and there is not one gap between the books. Spiralling staircases, boasting glorious patterns made of solid gold, wrap around the entire room. A large window is located opposite the door. Mal sees the yellowing sky stretch out for miles and for a moment it is as if she never left her tower.

It is a truly beautiful room. If this is her prison, perhaps she will not be so lonely all of the time. Nobody is alone when there are books to be read.

"Stand there." The Queen points to the centre of the room, and the spell is broken.

Mal's insides tighten, but she obeys the Queen. The Fairy Godmother comes to stand two feet in front of her. She gets closer every year. The powers passed down from her mother constantly grow stronger, and this means the spell to keep those pesky powers at bay must also grow stronger. The Fairy Godmother shoots her an apologetic look as she waves her wand a few times in preparation. This spell knocks a lot out of her. Not as much as it does Mal, but for an older woman who isn't able to bounce back as quick, the recovery cannot be easy.

"Are you ready, child?" the Queen asks. Usually, she doesn't. Usually, she gives a nod to the Fairy Godmother and Mal, unprepared, falls to the ground in a heap of agony.

"Yes," Mal responds, though, of course, she is not ready. This isn't right. Stripping her of her powers is unfair. It's a violation. But she has no choice. She never has any choice. "I am ready."

"Stand straight," the Fairy Godmother warns.

Once, when Mal was six, one year after her first experience with power binding, she hunched over when the Fairy Godmother cast the spell out of fear. She remembered how badly it hurt the first time, and her small frame crumbled in on itself for protection.

Mal considers it one of her biggest mistakes. Her body rejected the spell. It tossed around inside of her before shooting out. The Fairy Godmother had to repeat the incantation, and Mal suffered twice that day.

Never again. Mal squares her shoulder and straightens her spine. Her bones creak and ache with malnutrition, but she stares at the Fairy Godmother, a slight flicker of wickedness and defiance, gifts from her mother bursting forth, in her green eyes.

The Fairy Godmother starts speaking in a strange language. Her tongue twists around peculiar sounding words. Sparks fly from the tip of her wand and Mal prepares for the blow. Just beyond the Fairy Godmother, hiding behind a crack in one of the bookshelves, Mal spots a pair of glowing eyes. Her eyebrows sink, moving above her nose. She starts tilting her head to the side, confused, but the spell hits her before she can speak to whoever is spying on her.

Crying out, Mal falls to her knees. She clutches her chest. Excruciating pain sweeps through her, rattling her bones. Wringing her lungs.

She can't breathe. Her eyes fly open. She looks frantically around the room, her brain unable to construct a single coherent thought. The spell, the agony it brings, has wholly clouded her mind.

In the midst of her attack, she searches for that crack in the wall. The glowing eyes are still there. Wider now, staring fearfully at her. Mal shrieks again, another wave of pain hitting her. She feels the spell trickling through her blood. It laces itself around her soul like a snake; it squeezes until the power that had been rising within her for the past twelve months dies out like a snuffed flame.

Steadily, the spell weakens. Mal finds her breath again, and she sucks in air as if she has been floating in the dark vacuum of space for the past eighteen years.

A hand clamps around her arm, dragging her into a standing position. "I will show you to your room. You may rest until suppertime," the Queen says.

Mal does not mind the Queen's harsh grip for the moment. She is far too weak to stand on her own. As she is pulled from the library—which she hopes will not be tarnished by this day's events—she captures those glowing eyes a final time. Focused now, she sees their colour. Blue. The same blue as the Prince.

The same blue as the boy who came to the field.

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 **A/N 2:** Mal's apparent voyeurism will be explained, don't you worry.

What did you think? Interested in finding out more?

Thanks for reading!


	2. Two

**A/N:** The response to the first part of this story was unbelievable. Honestly, I was not expecting nearly as many people to be excited about this dark tale. Thank you all so, so very much for your kind words and encouragement (special thanks to the guest who mentioned a Wicked song in their comment! Elphie is always providing inspiration.). I got this next part out as soon as I could, and I only hope it reads as well as the first. That's always a worry with the followup chapter, isn't it?

Once again, enjoy!

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 **Within These Castle Walls | Two**

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 **Part iii: The Prince**

Two days have passed since Mal entered the castle. She is not sleeping. How can she expect to? Every minute, every second, that slips by brings her one minute, one second, closer to the Prince's eighteenth birthday. The Queen has explained in detail what will happen on the Prince's birthday. Since Mal was old enough to understand the concept of marriage, the Queen made it a point to reiterate the masterful scheme. She will marry the Prince, and one day she will stand by his side as he rules Auradon. Across the water, on the Isle, the Queen says Mal will be able to hear her mother's shrieks of agony.

That is all this is. A petty war between the Queen and Maleficent. Good versus evil; the age-old tale. Mal is tired of being caught in the middle. She is sick of not ruling her own life. Denying who she is: the true daughter of wickedness.

Turning over on her side, Mal, still curled beneath the duvet on her large bed, waits for the clock to strike 7:00. She has caught it in time—the hour hand reaches the seven and the grandfather clock sings his melancholy tune. Mal throws the duvet off. She climbs out of bed and observes herself in the floor length mirror given to her by the Queen. It rests against the wall opposite her bed in the grand bedroom, which is nearly the size of her entire room in the tower. Painted a cold shade of white, it houses only a bed, a small basket for her dirty clothes, and a lamp. The wooden flooring—apparently, the Queen loves daring people to break valuables—is icy beneath Mal's feet as she lifts her nightgown and throws it in the hamper.

Her purple locks are a tangled mess; she has been too fearful of the fancy knobs in the lavatory nearest her room to take a bath. Hardly a time of ease, Mal has been unable to eat very much and her figure shows it. She was small when she arrived forty-eight hours ago, but her body has changed drastically since. The clothes in her closet, some of which are new thanks to the Queen's insistence she dress more like royalty, scarcely fit her. Running her hands over her ribcage, she shivers.

When will this nightmare be over, she asks herself.

Oh, right, she thinks, answering her own question. It will never be over.

In five days she will marry Prince Benjamin. She will take to his bed that night and the final key will be turned, entrapping her forever.

Mal frowns at her reflection. "Stupid girl," she whispers, her face growing ruddy with anger. "Why couldn't you have just found a way to escape before it was too late?"

The only source of comfort in this large castle is the library. She has had it to herself, and she spends every minute she can in there reading the stacks of books.

Tired of staring at her naked body, Mal grabs the dressing gown and her day's outfit hanging on the door, and heads for the lavatory. She switches on the light, immediately reaching for the ivory-handled, horsehair brush. She tugs at her matted hair with the fine bristles until it is silky. After she has styled it in a French plait, the Queen's favourite, Mal splashes cold water on her face to wake herself up after suffering a horrible night's sleep. Dressing quickly in the white gown, ignoring how it slips further down her chest than it should, she exits the lavatory and descends the many staircases.

The dining hall is quiet. It always is, she has noticed in her time at the castle. The King and Queen do not speak to each other. The Prince is too occupied with his plate of food to notice his parents. They huddle together near the fireplace at one end of the table with the King at the head. Mal scrapes a chair back and sits at the opposite end. A maid exits the kitchen. Plate of food in hand, she offers it to Mal, who takes it, resting it gently on the table.

Eggs, buttered toast, and fresh tomatoes. Mal thinks she may be sick. The smell of the food roils the acid in her belly.

"Is everything okay, Miss?" the maid asks.

Mal watches the faces at the end of the table turn to look at her. She straightens in her seat. Swipes at a drop of sweat above her lip. "Yes," she says.

"Are you certain? You're very pale."

"I'm quite all right," Mal insists.

"She's fine, Deirdre, leave her alone and get back to work." The Queen's stern voice shocks the maid—Deirdre, a lovely name Mal has never heard before, not even in her books—and she curtseys to Mal before scampering off.

The Queen looks her over. "Though she is right, child. You look sickly pale." There is no concern in her voice. Only contempt. She says over and over how beautiful Mal would be if she put effort into her appearance. To spite her, Mal does everything she can to keep her looks dull and boring.

Mal stares directly into the Queen's iced eyes and says, "I am well, Your Majesty."

Snarling, the Queen returns her attention to her plate of food. Mal scans the room, her focus landing on the silent Prince. He looks quickly away.

It is him. The boy from the field. Mal is sure of it. She doesn't understand why, but this revelation makes her . . . sad. Angry, too. And confused. A mixture of emotions, each more complicated than the last.

She is sad because there is a boy, a boy she does not know nor love, and she is stealing him away from the girl he adores. The girl he takes to the field because nowhere else are they allowed to express their love for one another. He has spoken of running away with her. Defying his parents and their decision to marry him off to the daughter of the great villain Maleficent and fleeing to some place the Royal Guard will never find them.

Who is she to destroy their love? To come between them and their plans?

Mal has said it many times that she and the boy are the same, and it turns out she could not have been more right.

But she is also angry the Prince knows of love. True love. The kind of love that is undeniable and uncontainable. The kind that builds a raging fire inside of your soul. The kind for which she has aimlessly yearned since she read of the phenomenon in _Romeo and Juliet_. He is as trapped as her in this arranged marriage, but he will always remember his brown-haired love. When he lies with her on their wedding night, Mal's body will be replaced by hers. Her voice will go into his ears as the girl's.

Unless, of course, he decides to run away with her after all.

There has been no time to tell him she knows. No time to confront him about his secrets. She must find time before his birthday. Before they are bound by an unbreakable vow.

"King Adam! King Adam!" A servant rushes into the kitchen, skidding to a halt beside Mal. He pants, out of breath. "King Adam, it's urgent."

"What is it, Lumière?" the King asks, rising to his feet.

"There is trouble in town, sir. You are needed urgently for business. The Queen as well."

"No," the Queen says firmly, answering for the King. She does this often. "We cannot leave the children alone."

Lumière looks helplessly at the King. "Sire, it is vital you come with me."

"It is _vital_ we remain here with these children," the Queen bites. She never has liked it when her words are ignored. She reaches across the table and pats her husband's hand. "Darling, tell the man."

The King looks between his Queen and the servant. Lumière stands at Mal's side, clutching the back of her chair. She hears the wood creak and fears his tight clutch may break something.

"Lumière," the King says. He picks his cloth napkin off his lap and folds it over his empty plate of food. "Get the carriage ready."

The Queen's mouth drops. "You dare defy me," she says, leaping from her seat. Rage pours from her body. "You dare go against me."

"I am the King," he bellows. Mal watches the Prince stab a tomato with his fork. He does not seem to mind his parents arguing. "I am in charge, no matter what you like to believe. I rule this land and I say we are going. Pack a bag, Belle."

Stunned, the Queen teeters back on her heels. "But what about the child"—

—"The children will be safe! We do not have to worry about them. _Go_ , Belle."

The Queen, hands curled into fists, storms out of the dining hall. Lumière nods thankfully towards his master and hurries off to fetch the royal carriage. He makes sure to keep his distance from the Queen. Bowing his head, the King departs without a word, leaving Mal and the Prince to linger in the silence.

It doesn't take long for the Prince to decide he no longer wants to be in the room with her. Moments after the pair hear two separate doors slam, he pushes his chair out and leaves, completely ignoring Mal. She listens carefully to his retreating footsteps. He comes to halt not far outside of the dining hall, and Mal hears him whispering to somebody. A servant, no doubt. She picks up on some of what he says.

Tell her to come, he says. Tell her it's urgent. I can't leave the grounds, so she will have to come to here.

Of course, Sir, comes the response.

Since arriving, Mal has noticed how strangely acute her hearing is. She hears the King and Queen discussing the future of Auradon. Hears the Queen talking to her servants about the wedding. She hears the soft moans of the Prince in the night. This trick will surely come in handy during her time as Auradon's reluctant Princess. A blackmail tool she can use whenever her wishes are refused.

The same woman who delivered her breakfast exits the kitchen, tearing Mal's attention away from the Prince's confidential meeting. She wipes her hands on her dark apron. Clouds of flour dust around her as she approaches Mal. Her soft eyes look between the reluctant guest and the untouched plate of food in front of her.

"You did not like the food, Miss?" she asks.

"It's nothing like that, Deirdre," Mal says, and the maid looks shocked at hearing her name. The two of them are slaves to the Queen. It is only fair Mal remember something as simple as her name. "I'm not hungry."

Deirdre eyes her curiously. "You still do not look well. Some food might do you good."

"No, thank you, Deirdre," Mal says. She removes herself from her seat, ignoring the wash of dizziness that strikes her. "I'm needed upstairs. The Queen wants me to read books on etiquette, and she'll know if I've been skipping sessions."

Deirdre relents. Stepping aside, she allows Mal to exit the dining hall. Once she is out of Deirdre's sight, Mal searches the palace's entryway for any sign of the Prince. All that meets her eyes are the dented suits of armour worn by the King during his many battles. She hears shuffling noises from up the stairs. The King and Queen are packing their bags for their trip. Mal recognises the Queen's aggravated pacing, having been witness to it countless times whenever she caught Mal scheming to escape her tower.

The marble flooring cool beneath her callused feet, Mal sways around the castle's entrance in her flowing dress and observes the nearest suit of armour. These objects are the King's trophies from the time before the Auradon Accords. He fought each citizen of the Isle of the Lost in these metal works of art. On their base is a plaque denoting which villain he defeated in which suit. She stands in front of the Evil Queen's, whose powerful spells melted part of the King's helmet. Mal can imagine how distraught her mother's playmate was when the King managed to overpower her.

Stepping away from the Evil Queen's suit, Mal approaches the one beside the grand staircase. Gashes and bite marks decorate this one. Ashy burn marks dot along the chest plate. Mal peeks the nameplate and feels her heart accelerate when she sees her mother's name.

 _Maleficent - Final Villain Captured_.

She knows how this happened. In her youth, just after learning to read, Mal fell in love with the war stories of Auradon. Her favourite was her mother's, though as she grew older she learned to despise the tale of defeat. According to legend, Maleficent, a new mother to her first child, battled with the King for days. She thwarted all of his plans for her capture. Outsmarted him at every turn. She destroyed the Kingdom. Killed dozens of innocent civilians, dozens of members of the Royal Guard. Their bodies lay on the streets of Auradon for weeks after her capture. Maleficent did everything in her power to stop the King from taking her and her child away.

Ultimately, her efforts proved fruitless. Stomping over homes in her dragon form, Maleficent suffered a devastating blow from the King's poison-tipped sword. It slashed her mother's side and put her to sleep almost instantly. When she woke, she was locked in chains in the castle's dungeon. Her baby was gone, as was her freedom.

She did all she could to escape the cells, but nothing could be done. The Fairy Godmother had used Maleficent's own spell book against her, and she was trapped.

Mal's head whirs. Reaching out her hand, she grazes a scorch mark on the suit. The metal is cool beneath her touch, but she knows how hotly it burned when her mother breathed fire over the King. It takes her a moment to realise she is crying. Angry tears—pathetic tears—fall from her eyes. Pulling back, she smacks away the wetness on her cheeks. She can sense the darkness rising within her the longer she stares at the mutilated suit of armour. Something is not right with her. No matter how desperately hard the Queen tries to squash any sense of her heritage, Mal was born from pure evil. It scares her whenever it happens, but every so often Mal will see images in her mind of horrible things. She will hear voices telling her to commit horrific crimes. They come to her with no warning.

She contemplates if those images are some kind of prophecy. Tellings of what would happen should Mal ever manage to escape these castle walls. Or maybe they are snapshots of what her life would look like had Maleficent never been captured. If Mal had been allowed to grow beside her mother.

Good and evil fight for control of her powers. It is a constant inner battle. The Queen's upbringing struggling against Mal's seemingly unstoppable, villainous lineage.

Mal deflates. Her shoulders slump and she bows her head, chin resting against the softness of her breasts. She must stop torturing herself with these thoughts. Swallowing a thick lump, Mal departs the entryway and heads up the staircase to the library which has acted as her safe haven since arriving at the palace.

The instant Mal enters the luscious room, a voice calls to her.

"Who's there?" it asks.

Mal winces. It is the Prince.

"Cogsworth, is it you?" the Prince asks. Mal hears him close a book. "Has she responded to my request?"

Unable to force her legs to move, Mal stands by the door and says nothing.

"Don't keep it from me," the Prince says, emerging from behind a large chair. "Tell me, what did she"—He freezes, eyes landing on Mal. His mouth falls and he inhales a confused breath. "What are you doing in here?"

Affronted, Mal takes a single step into the room and allows the door to close behind her. "Your mother showed me this place."

A dark gleam shifts over the Prince's blue eyes. "Yes, she did," he says, and Mal remembers the eyes watching her as the Fairy Godmother bound her powers her first day in the castle.

She suddenly feels overexposed. She crosses her arms beneath her bosom, a protective gesture.

"You read?" he says.

"I know how to, if that's what you're asking. Your mother made sure I was well-taught."

He nods, moving his hands behind his back. The blue cloth he wears stretches over his shoulders.

Does the Prince know from where she came, Mal wonders, staring at him. Does he know of her tower, even if he does not know where in the forest it hid?

"What was my mother doing to you?"

Jolting, Mal contemplates her answer. "When?"

"The other day. When you first arrived, she brought you up to the library. Something happened," he says. "What was it?"

Mal is taken aback by the slight undertone of pleading in the Prince's voice. It is soft and gentle. Caressing her ears. "You want to know?" she checks.

There are many feet separating them, but Mal senses the Prince's warmth drifting off his skin. He tilts his head in a nod, the blues of his eyes turning the shade of a storm brewing above the sea.

"You looked as though you were in pain," he says.

"So you were watching?" Mal looks over at the space where the Prince had hid.

Turning his head, the Prince follows her gaze. A flicker of a smile lifts the sides of his pink mouth, and for a moment he looks his age. Youthful, free. Then the smile is gone and with it the tiredness to which she has grown accustomed returns. "Mother doesn't know about that. It's a hidden door. Built shortly after my father was cursed," he explains. "What was happening, though?"

He isn't dropping it. Mal readjusts her arms, remembering how badly this last binding spell hurt. She lifts her shoulders. "It was nothing," she says.

"It didn't look like nothing. It looked like torture."

"Power binding," she says. "Not torture."

"Power binding," he says slowly, feeling out the words. "What is that?"

"It's exactly as it sounds."

"My mother takes away your powers? Why?"

"She's afraid of them," Mal says. "Why else?"

Mal is afraid of them too. She doesn't want to be, but she worries some days she will explode. Worries all of the years she has spent bottling her strength, keeping her powers hidden will lead to something bad happening. Something she won't be able to control.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"So many questions," Mal says, finally dropping her arms. She grabs the sides of her dress, staring into the Prince's eyes. "I think it's my turn."

"What questions could you possibly have for me."

"Oh, plenty." A trickle of excitement leaks inside of Mal. She knows something the Prince does not.

This is her mother fighting for a way out.

Prince Benjamin unclasps his hands from behind his back. He tucks one inside the pocket of his sleek trousers and scratches his smooth, pink cheek with the other. "Ask away," he permits.

"I've seen you before," Mal says.

"Impossible," the Prince says instantly. Defensively.

"Is it?"

The Prince steps forward menacingly. He is inches taller than her, but she doesn't cower. "Yes," he says, firm.

Mal looks up at his young face. There are red streaks lining his cheek where his blunt fingernails dug into the skin. His immune system fighting against its host.

"The field," she says softly. She cocks her head like an innocent babe. "Do you know where your mother kept me?"

"In a tower." The Prince is beginning to understand. It is written in spades across his burning face. "You watched us," he says in disbelief. "What were you thinking? Those were private meetings."

Rage overtakes the Prince's features and Mal thinks he looks so like his mother. His blue eyes go black, his pupils widening. Mal was not prepared for this reaction. She was merely playing a game. Fun. She was trying to have fun. People in books tease others—their friends, enemies, lovers—all of the time. There is never any harm in it.

But what does she know of real life? Real interactions? Books are fairytales. Lies. She must learn not to take social cues from them.

"I'm sorry," she says, backing away. She is cowardly now, like that lion in the book about a green city and a lost girl. "I"—

—"Didn't know it was unacceptable to intrude on other people's intimate moments?" He sounds like he did in the field when he and the girl would argue.

"I couldn't help myself," she says. "You were right by my window. I _liked_ watching you. It made me not feel so"—

—"What did you see? What days were you watching?" His voice has risen in pitch. He sounds desperate. Erratic.

"I saw everything. Every time you came to the field, from the very beginning, I would sit by my window and look down," she tells him.

"Oh, no," Prince Benjamin groans. He pulls at his hair until it stands straight up on his head. "You're going to tell, aren't you?"

"What?" Mal asks.

A wild look in his black glare, the Prince closes the space between them. She smells the sweat sitting on his skin. The fresh scented soaps with which he washes.

She holds tighter to her dress. Feels the fabric strain against her grasp.

"You are going to use this against me. You will tell my mother and use the information as a bargaining chip to get out of marrying me," he says frantically, reaching out and grabbing ahold of her shoulders. His fingers bite into her bones. "You can't do that. They'll kill her. And Mother won't let anything get in the way of our union. Telling her will solve nothing."

Mal nearly collapses as a white flash burns her eyes. The Prince holds her in a death grip. Breathing deep, she wills herself to push away from him. She stumbles back, her spine hitting a shelf. She lays herself flat against the books.

The Prince stands a couple of feet away from her, arms hanging by his sides. "What was that?" he asks, a quiver in his throat.

"What?" she seethes. "What was WHAT!" How _dare_ he look at her as though she is the one that has just attacked him.

"Your eyes. They . . . They were glowing," he says, mystified.

Straightening, Mal rolls her shoulders once and blinks rapidly. "No, they weren't," she says. "You're seeing things. And I wouldn't tell your precious mother about you and that girl. I know we're stuck in this. I know there's no escaping. I've known since the day the Queen of Auradon took me from my mother's breast and raised me solely to be your bride."

The Prince is about to say something, but the door to the library opens and the Queen rushes inside. She tuts in disapproval at Mal's disheveled appearance, going to stand by her son.

"I'm leaving now, Dear," she says, kissing his temple. She looks at Mal. "Be good."

"I will, Mother," Prince Benjamin says, thinking those last words were meant for him.

The Queen detaches from the Prince. "Darling, Cogsworth wants to see you. He has something for you."

The Prince is out of the library in the blink of an eye, and it is the Queen and Mal alone. How at home Mal feels.

Something sinister sparks in the Queen's intense gaze. "You two are not to be left unsupervised, do you understand? You are to have a servant or a maid with you if you wish to speak my son again."

"I understand," Mal says.

"Good. You look filthy," she adds, turning up her nose. "I'll have Deirdre run you a bath."

Grateful, Mal nods and follows the Queen out of the library.

 **— — —**

 **Part iv: A Storm**

Rain spits against the window in Mal's lavatory as she bathes. It has been pouring since the King and Queen departed from the castle nearly two nights ago. Thanks to Deirdre, Mal has learned how to use the complicated knobs in her bath and is enjoying watching the clouds weep. Springtime calls for this type of weather, and Mal has always adored it. The sounds of rain, the pitter patter, calm her in her times of anxiety. She needs reprieve from those anxious feelings now more than ever; the Prince's birthday is nearing. Three days and she will stand before him, hand in hand, vowing to be his forever.

They haven't spoken since their collision in the library. Not that she has had the chance. He has hidden in his room day and night, only coming out when the sun goes down to use the lavatory. She half suspects the girl from the field is with him, though she has not heard any other voices coming from the Prince's room.

Sufficiently clean, Mal steps out of the bath and dries herself off with a soft towel. She wipes away the steam that gathered on the mirror and gives herself a once over, dissatisfied with the even thinner girl that stares back at her. It's getting worse. Thinking of food makes her feel ill and she has barely touched any in days. Her hair is starting to thin. She found strands of it on her pillow when she woke from another unsuccessful night.

Breathe, Mal, she tells herself. She must breathe. Last night, before drifting into a nightmare, she panicked so bad her throat closed on itself.

That cannot happen again.

Mal presses her hands against the glass mirror and closes her eyes, focusing on the sounds of the rain. She inhales through her nose and exhales out of her mouth. Steadily, the anxiety lessens and she feels well enough to dress in the petal pink gown the Queen assigned for this day, though soon she will be changing into her nightclothes. The sun has already begun its descent.

Book in hand— _Titus Andronicus_ , a Shakespeare play Mal previously had not known existed—she goes up a flight of steps towards the library. Mal opens the door slowly so as to stop it from creaking. A fire is going in the fireplace. Wood pops and sparks fly. What a gorgeous additive to the thunderstorm that has begun.

"Oh," a voice says from beside the fireplace "It's you."

"I'm sorry," Mal says quickly, turning away from the Prince and heading for the door.

As her hand clamps on the handle, he says, "No, don't go. Please."

"Your mother doesn't want us alone."

"Please," he says again.

Mal peeks at him over her shoulder. He looks horrid. Pale faced and sunken. A dark shadow lines his jaw. It's as if the Fairy Godmother has cast a power binding spell over him.

Mal releases the door handle and steps further into the library, laying to rest _Titus Andronicus_ on the nearest shelf. She approaches his lavish chair. "What's happened?"

There is a delay in his response. He shakes his head a couple of times and when he catches her eye again he is almost smiling. He is a pale, sickly boy no longer. "I've never liked thunder," he says as a bright spark of lightning splits the sky. The air goes quiet. A sizzling electricity fills the room, setting the hairs on Mal's arm on-end. Thunder cracks moments later, and the Prince jerks, the book balanced on his lap dropping. "See?"

He reaches down to collect it. Mal catches sight of the title. _The Little Mermaid_. Giddiness, rare for Mal, blossoms in her belly and she lets the images of the Prince from one minute ago slip from her mind.

"You like _The Little Mermaid_?"

The Prince shrugs. "I suppose," he brushes off.

"You suppose?" she inquires.

"It's a comfort read," he says sharply. "Whenever I get a little nervous, I come here and read it."

Inhale, exhale. Inhale exhale.

"It's my favourite," Mal admits. The Prince looks up at her, and she sees his blue eyes burnt by the orange glow of the fire. "I love it to bits."

"I think," he says, thoughtful, "that is the first piece of information you've offered up since you got here."

"That isn't true," she says, picking at a forbidden loose thread on the skirt of her gown. The Queen would have the tailor sentenced if she knew. "We've spoken once before."

The Prince nods. That darkness from before resumes its position in his features. "Ah, yes." He pauses, and she knows he is going to ask more questions about the times she saw him in the field. "I've been thinking about our conversation from the other day. I still don't understand why you felt so compelled to spy on us. Did our nakedness not ever dissuade you from watching?"

"I have lived alone in a tower for eighteen years. Nakedness does not startle me. I do not fear it," she says. "I know the story of Adam and Eve. I know they grew to despise their naked bodies following their sinful acts, but I have never seen any issue with it."

There were days in her tower she would forego wearing any clothes. When the sun beat too hotly against her open window and the brick beneath her feet burned her skin, she would free herself from the confines of her heavy garments. She knows if she had been raised in proper society, alongside the Prince, or even alongside her mother, she would grasp the necessity of hiding one's body from the world.

But she had not been raised among others. She was a wolf child, raised by the wilderness and a heartless queen.

Digesting her words, the Prince taps his fingers against _The Little Mermaid_ 's cover. "And when you found us . . . joined . . .?" He trails off, but Mal catches what he is asking.

"You love each other," she says. "I knew that. I've read about those acts in many books your mother provided for me. I know I shouldn't have watched, but I couldn't stop myself. My legs would ache looking at you. They ache now, remembering."

Mal should not have admitted that. The warmth that would spread through her as she sat by the window when the Prince and his love were bound in their nakedness is something she should have kept to herself. But the Prince only bounces his head, his lips pursed. He does not question her further. There are no more shouts, no more accusations of spying.

"Why do you like it?"

"Why do I like what?"

" _The Little Mermaid_ ," the Prince clarifies, lifting the book so Mal could see the front cover. Green and grey ocean waves foaming around a young girl. The image brings almost instant calm to Mal.

"It's a gorgeous story. I like everything about it," she says. She is unable to put her thoughts into words.

"Even the ending?"

"Oh," Mal sighs, "the ending is the best part."

Inviting her to sit, the Prince waves a hand over the empty seat in front his own. Hesitant, Mal creeps over to it and slowly slides down. The brown leather chair is firm, but comfortable. She sits straight, hands resting on her thighs, almost out of breath from having stood for so long.

The Prince flips through the short fairytale, landing on a page near the back. He clears his throat. "'Once more she looked at the prince, with her eyes already dimmed by death, then dashed overboard and fell, her body dissolving into foam.'" Prince Benjamin looks up from the book, his blue eyes awash with unshed tears. "You like an unhappy ending?"

"They are real," she says. "There is no such thing as a happy ending."

He shuts the book and tosses it to the ground by the fire. Its pages are nearly swallowed by the flame. "It could have been avoided, though. The princess could not have lied, and the prince would have one day understood it was the little mermaid that saved him."

"I suppose, but the idea is that the little mermaid loves the prince so much she is willing to die in order that he be happy," Mal says.

The air has shifted.

The Prince leans back in his chair. Resting his elbow on the arm, he fiddles with his bottom lip, his breathing growing laboured. With his free hand, he searches for something in his pocket and tosses a piece of folded paper at Mal. It lands perfectly in her lap. Without a word, she picks it up. It is scented like wildflowers. Carefully, Mal unfolds the paper, avoiding looking at the Prince.

 _I have received your letters, but regret that I cannot see you. It is time, my love, for us to part. There is too much danger in our being together now. You will learn to love your bride and soon will forget me. Do not search for me, for I will be far away when this reaches you._

 _All of my love,_

 _Audrey._

Audrey. The girl with the dark hair from the field. The Prince's true love.

She has left him.

Mal peeks at the Prince through her lashes. His face is wet. He stares bitterly at the fire, jumping when a crack of thunder slices the sky.

"I'm"—Mal begins, but what can she say? _Sorry_? It is her fault the Prince's heart has been broken. Sorry is too small and insignificant a word.

"You're right," he says, chewing on his forefinger. The tears running down his cheeks glow yellow with the flame. "There is no such thing as a happy ending."

She doesn't know what compels her to do it, doesn't understand the urgent need taking ahold of her, but Mal refolds the paper and gets on her knees in front of the Prince. She presses the note into his lap, feeling the warmth of his skin through his trousers, and stares up at him.

He startles, looking down. Dropping his hand, his fingers rest centimetres from her own.

"Your fingers are like bone," he notices. His pinky traces the outline of her thumb. Then, softly, he says, "Tell me your story."

A tear drops from the flat tip of his nose and lands on Mal's hand. She stares at the salty liquid as it melts into her skin, a part of the Prince becoming a part of her. "Don't you already know it?" she asks, crawling back to her chair. She focuses on the rain falling from the darkening sky. "I can only imagine the tales your mother would tell you when she tucked you into bed."

"Mother never tucked me into bed. And I know how harshly she judges people. What she says only holds so much truth."

She contemplates his request. Prince Benjamin wipes the wet streaks from his cheeks and nose and holds tight to the folded letter in his lap.

What is her story? Taken as a babe from her murderous mother, raised by the Queen of the most powerful kingdom to be the bride of her son. It is a simple story. Nothing about which any man could write fairytales. But she tells him anyway. She offers him memories of her time in the castle, like the day she realised she was trapped there when through the field a parade of horses rode carrying boys of all ages on their backs. It was the first moment she yearned for freedom, watching those horses run across the grass and out of her sight.

He asks her questions, and she answers as well as she can until his final enquiry.

"How are you so good?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You are the daughter of Maleficent. Auradon's greatest enemy. You were then taken from your mother and stuck in a hidden tower. How have you managed to keep ahold of your sanity?"

Mal allows her fine purple hair to cover her face. "I don't think I've managed very well at all."

"No, I can tell," the Prince says. He leans forward, taking her thin wrist between his fingers. His first two fingers rest against the pule point, and she knows he will be able to feel her heart quicken. "You are good."

She isn't, though. He is not inside of her head. He doesn't know the thoughts that swim in her mind. He cannot hear her mother's voice calling out to her, begging her to break free and tear down Auradon's walls.

Glancing out the window, Mal realises the storm has ended. They must have been talking for hours. Her throat is dry and scratched.

"I have to get to bed," she says, rising to her feet. Her wrist falls from the Prince's hold and she suddenly grows cold despite the fire still raging beside them.

"Yes," Prince Benjamin says. He joins her, again reaching for her. He takes her hand this time and she cannot help but notice how much tighter his grip is tonight than when they first met. How much warmer his hand is. How much nicer it feels to be touched by him. "Thank you, Mal, for staying with me this evening."

"Of course, Prince Benjamin," she responds, his name feeling foreign on her tongue.

Squeezing her hand, the Prince smiles and she feels she could collapse. It is as if someone has switched on a light inside of her soul. She brightens from within. Comes alive, as if she has been laying dormant since birth.

No, she reprimands in her head. His heart belongs to another. He will never be hers. She cannot do this to herself.

"Ben," he says, releasing her hand. "Prince Benjamin is much too formal."

"Ben," she repeats. That feels much nicer, she thinks as the coldness returns. "Do you know my name?"

"Is it not Mal?" the Prince— _Ben_ —asks, looking confused.

"Mallory."

"Mallory." He feels it out in his mouth. Nobody uses her full name. Not even the Queen. "What does it mean?"

"Unlucky one," she says, followed by a bitter huff of a laugh. "It fits, I've always thought."

Ben hands her the copy of _The Little Mermaid_ he has been holding since she entered the room. His blue eyes search hers, all of the darkness from earlier having disappeared. "It doesn't have to," he says. "Goodnight, Mal. 'Til morning."

Mal bids her Prince goodnight and escapes the library, running as quick as she can back to her room. Closing the door behind her, she rests against the wood, head spinning. The world rotates around her and she drops the fairytale.

The edges of her vision blacken. She is about to faint. She reaches her bed just in time, falling into her mattress as her eyes close.

Moments later she is awoken by a loud boom. More thunder. Outside her room's lonely window, the sky is illuminated by wondrous streaks of lightning. Rain throws itself against the glass. Another storm has hit, and Mal can only think of the Prince. Of his touch and of how her body reacted to the feel of his skin.

She has read of this sort of thing. One touch and it is like Cupid himself has struck you with an arrow. But as she convinced herself before, the Prince—Ben . . . he is in love with another. There is no room for her in his swollen heart.

Mal sits up on her bed, a bitterness weaving through her.

She could scream. This was never part of the plan, not that there ever was a real plan. There was only ever what she wanted—to be free and loved and in full possession of her powers—and what she got—pain and power binding spells. Regardless, she was never supposed to find herself falling for the Prince. She is supposed to despise him. She is no little mermaid. No fool. She is the daughter of Maleficent. But even her dear mother must have loved another at some point, otherwise Mal would not exist.

 _Run, my sweet_.

Mal's hands go to her head. She holds them there, pressing down.

Go away, she begs. Please, leave me alone.

 _You will never be happy with him_. _Come to me_. _Together we will watch Auradon burn_.

"No!" she says aloud, staring out of the window.

Chest tightening, Mal clutches at her breast. She is so tired of this place. Of being a prisoner. She needs fresh air. She needs an escape, the Queen be damned.

The palace is quiet as Mal creeps speedily down the stairs, stomach twisting with nerves. She hears the Prince pacing in his room, stopping every once in a while as thunder beats against the clouds. She listens for a moment to his movements, her heart wishing her to call out to him, before scurrying to the entryway. With the King and Queen gone all of the castle staff have relaxed. Not one servant or maid is in sight and Mal strides out of the doors, carefully shutting them behind her.

She knows when she is nearing the Fairy Godmother's barricade. She senses the great power radiating from the mixture of spells. Her flesh pricks the closer she gets.

As rain soaks her skin, as her flowing pink dress sticks to her stomach, Mal raises her arms. Palms facing the ground limits, Mal finally sets loose the darkness brewing inside of her. Her eyes burn. All she sees is white.

"Let me out!" she cries. Her voice collides with a clap of thunder and Mal, her vision returning, knows the Fairy Godmother's spells have been broken.

* * *

 **A/N 2:** Disney may officially deny it, but Beast's name is Adam. Everybody knows it. Even the cast of the original film. Also, yes, Mal is a little voyeuristic - there is still one part left for some more explanation.

Did it live up to your expectations? Still interested in finding out what happens?

Thanks for reading!


	3. Three

_There'll be no trace/ That one was once two/ After I fade into you_

* * *

 **Within These Castle Walls | Three**

* * *

 **Part v: Found**

"The Queen said she would be somewhere near here."

"The Queen's an old hag. What does she know?"

"You'll do your best to keep your mouth shut. She's got the trees watching over us, I'm sure of it."

"If she had the trees spying on us, wouldn't we know beyond a shadow of a doubt where the girl is?"

Mal hears the two members of the Royal Guard creep towards her hiding spot. Their feet fall hard against the earth and their voices are deep. She crouches beneath the tall grass, concealed behind a large sequoia tree with a trunk as wide as her tower. The many fantasy books the Queen gave her prepared her well for this moment. Mal would find humour in the irony if she were not so terrified of being found.

The Royal Guard is running out of time. Nightfall nears once again and when it comes they must give up their search until morning. But morning brings with it the Prince's eighteenth birthday. The Queen—Mal can almost feel her desperation, as if all of those years she spent being tutored by the woman have somehow connected them. Can the Queen sense her own hopelessness and fear? Perhaps that is why the two guards have come so close to finding her, because the Queen has located her using this strange link.

They cannot get to her. Mal must keep running, but she wants so badly to see her tower one last time. Though it is invisible to the naked eye, Mal knows if she clears through these trees she will be in the field beneath her tower. Her home. Since she left the castle nearly three nights ago she has been on the hunt for this place. Dodging the Guard has not been easy, and she is greatly weakened by malnutrition and exhaustion. Sleep has been hard to come by. The ground is hardly comfortable, and the high levels of unease and panic running through her system keep her mind occupied so that she cannot stay asleep for very long. But she needs to find the tower. To say goodbye if nothing else.

Soon, she will be far away from this place. Unsure exactly where she is headed, Mal only hopes she finds somewhere that will accept her and hide her away from her past. Somewhere they don't fear magic or the name Maleficent. Knowing what she does now—that she has never been without her powers, and that they are stronger than she could ever have imagined—makes her sure she will escape Auradon. But, again, she is weak. Without her strength, she doesn't know how well her powers behave.

"I don't see her," the first guard says, his words drowsy.

"I don't see her either, Carlos, but you don't think we should keep looking?"

"It's nearly dark, Jay. I can see the stars. Let's head back before we get eaten alive by the bugs."

They are practically on top of her. Mal quietly and carefully moves around the tree and spots the two guards only a few feet away. Dressed in matching blue and gold uniforms, the men are tall and lean with dark hair and clean-shaven faces. They look kind, but if they knew she was watching they would attack her without hesitation and bring her straight to the Queen on her knees.

Leave, she compels, ducking her head behind the tree when one turns around. Mal flattens herself against the trunk, shutting her eyes and willing herself to disappear. She cannot be found.

"Did you say something?" the one called Carlos asks his partner.

"No," Jay responds. He sounds confused. "But I really think we should get out of here."

"Yes, I do too. Hopefully the Queen won't have our heads for not finding the girl."

The guards' voices disappear into the air as their feet carry them away from where Mal trembles against the bark of the tree. Sharp bits of the wood press into Mal's ragged gown. One bit pierces her skin where her once-pink dress is gashed. Pain and nausea collide within her, but she remains where she is, tree bark bearing down on her upper back, until she is sure she is safe. Even then, as she creeps from behind the tree and slowly treads further into the woods, she holds her breath.

Mal walks silently over browned, dead leaves, ignoring the pain in her bare feet, and searches for the open field where her tower hides. Minutes pass by in quiet agony and Mal senses herself growing wearier the longer she hikes through the unfamiliar trees and undergrowth. The sun truly is running behind the earth, like the tired guards said it was. Its bright rays lessen with each of Mal's steps. Soon, she will be thrust into darkness again and will have no hope of finding her forgotten home.

But she speaks too soon. The trees are beginning to lessen in number. An opening is before her bleary eyes and she steps through, her callused feet landing on the soft field. She sighs in relief as the tall stalks of grass brush her knees through the tears in her gown. Mal runs her hands over the tips. They tickle her sensitive palms. Mal smiles for the first time since her night with the Prince in the library; a small, barely-there smile that hardly reaches her eyes, but it lifts some of the weight off of her knotted shoulders.

Glancing up at the sky, Mal watches clouds move across the darkening expanse. Which one conceals her tower? She walks into the field, stopping when she starts to recognise her surroundings. Everything is so much bigger down on the ground. The wild flowers, pink and purple and blue in colour, glisten in the coming moonlight. Mal bends and cups a gorgeous blue flower in her hand, bringing it to her nose. It smells heady. Sweet. Like a perfume.

A gentle breeze picks up. The grass arches and the trees rustle. Mal's tangled hair moves in front of her eyes. She pushes it behind her ears, suddenly realising that this spot is where the boy and girl would meet. The flowers and grass are flat, making Mal feel like she's standing in a flimsily-walled cell.

It is strange being here. Here, one hundred feet below her hidden tower, where the Prince would bring Audrey. Images, memories of her time playing as a voyeur, seep into her head. Her stomach tightens and she attempts to shake away the pictures. Once, she would have gladly reminisced about the boy and his love lying here, their clothes thrown to the wind, but that was before that night in the library. Before everything— _everything_ —changed.

Since she left the castle, nearly every time she closes her eyes she sees his face. The Prince—Ben—he is everywhere she looks, constantly hiding behind her eyelids. It is as if he is calling to her, asking her to return to him. Like he's gotten beneath her skin and is moving with her on her journey. In the split second before she opens her eyes and he vanishes, Mal is overcome by this urgent need to abandon her plan and run back to the palace. Funny how one simple touch has managed to alter her so. But she must continue on her path to freedom. It is the only thing she ever wanted. The only thing until that night, when the Prince's hand suddenly became warm. When he slithered his way into her pathetically weak and wanting heart.

During her time in the tower, Mal learned to fear another's touch. She would shrink when the Queen grabbed at her. Flinch away when the Fairy Godmother came to her once a year and conducted an inspection of her before following through with the power binding spell. What is it about the Prince, then, that has her agonising for his hands? She remembers how he would touch Audrey. How his hands would roam her naked body. She can't seem to stop herself from wishing he would touch her in that way.

 _He will never want you. Come to me, child._

No. No more.

Mal sinks to the ground, her knees crashing into the flattened grass. She holds her hands over her ears and shuts her eyes tight. The Prince is there, smiling at her. His blue eyes glow.

 _We must be together once more. Find your way to me!_

Stop, please. I beg you, leave me be.

Mal pleads with her mother, whose voice has grown louder since she ran from the castle. She has tried shutting her out, but Maleficent's powers rival her own. Practiced and precise, she will stop at nothing to get at her.

Mal must keep moving. She needs to escape Auradon and finally be free.

"Mal!"

Go away, she implores, clamping her hands more fiercely over her ears. Go away, go away, go away.

"Mallory, where are you!"

It is not her mother's voice anymore.

Mal's eyes snap open. Fear invades her bloodstream. They have found her. She's spent too much time lollygagging, reminiscing about her time in captivity, and they have found her. Rising to her feet, Mal pushes through the onset of dizziness that clouds her mind and she looks frantically around the empty field, ready to fight off the Royal Guard if forced.

Wind whips through her knotted hair. Her dress flies. In the distance, heading towards her fast, is a single person. A boy.

The Prince.

Heart lodged firmly in her throat, Mal takes a step back. "Stay away," she warns as the Prince reaches her.

His light grey button-down is soaked through with sweat. He pants, disobeying her order and approaching her still. His thin, pink lips curve slightly, lifting his pink-tinged cheeks.

"I'm not afraid of you," he says valiantly.

"You should be," Mal responds. The wind has picked up. It roars in her ears like waves crashing over jagged rocks. She is the Little Mermaid, saying goodbye to her Prince for the final time. "The Fairy Godmother's binding spells—they didn't work. I have my powers and I won't hesitate to use them on you."

"You won't hurt me," he says, stepping forward.

"I will if I have to," she says. He moves again, but she is frozen, unable to will herself backwards. She puts a hand out. It shakes. "Please, don't come any closer."

"Why did you run?" he asks. He won't stop coming towards her.

"I had no choice. Don't you understand? I can't be trapped anymore. My whole life, eighteen long, torturous years, I've been a prisoner of this damned Kingdom. I won't live like that anymore. I refuse," Mal proclaims loudly, her words fighting against the wind. "I'm done being your mother's plaything. Her slave. I need to get away from this place."

The Prince says something that surprises her. Knocks the air right out of her lungs. "Let me come with you," he says.

"What?" Mal looks into his sea-blue eyes. There is sincerity in them like always. She shakes her head, frowning deeply. "N—no."

He has reached her now. He is standing right there, in front of her. Nothing but a thin strip of charged air separates their bodies.

She cannot think straight.

"Get away from me," she demands. "How did you get out of the castle anyway?"

Prince Benjamin flinches at her question. "It wasn't the first time," he says.

Of course. How could she forget?

Mal looks to the ground. They are standing where he and Audrey once stood. Where they once professed their love for one another, unclothed and locked together.

Why did he ask to come with her?

"Let me come with you," he says again.

"No," Mal repeats instantly, a fierceness attached to the single syllable. "Go home, Prince Benjamin."

"It's Ben. We talked about this, remember?"

"Go back to the castle," Mal orders, frowning up at him. She contorts her face into a bitter snarl. "I won't allow you to follow me. I don't even know where I'm going, but I have no doubt I will find some dangerous town far, far, far away from here. You have to _stay_."

Instead of responding immediately with words, the Prince reaches out and grabs ahold of her upper arms. His hands close around her biceps. His grip is brutal. She is caught in his trap, unable to will herself away from him. His touch is too calming. Too familiar and warm despite her only having come into contact with it twice before.

They stare at each other for a moment. Mal notices how his eyes seem to grow bluer as the moon rises.

This is madness.

"Ben"—Mal falters, her body ready to collapse once more. She is losing her adrenaline. She is fading quickly.

"I love you," he says, the three words falling out of his mouth in one big rush of air. They blow around Mal's face, moving her hair back behind her shoulders.

This truly _is_ madness.

"What?" Mal breathes, but her quiet exclamation is lost to the wind.

Prince Ben nods animatedly, his fingers crushing her bones. "I know it sounds insane, but you have to believe me, Mal. I don't understand it myself, but I do know it's the truth. I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

"I _don't_ believe you," Mal says, her throat tightening.

This is a trick, a horrible trick. The Prince isn't truly here; this is some apparition sent to lure her back to the castle. Back to the Queen where she will be punished for her escape. Death surely awaits her if she listens to the Prince.

Mal twists her arms, trying her best to release herself from the Prince. She is no match for his strength, though, and gives up within seconds.

"Please let me go. Let me leave," she begs.

The Prince steps closer. Their noses are almost touching. An electrical hum filters through the fierce wind. It crackles in the trees and settles in Mal's blood.

"Let me come with you," he repeats, his hands sliding from her arms to her back. Their bellies meet.

"No," she whispers, the word lost to the breeze.

"You know," the Prince says, tilting his head down. Their foreheads touch. Mal is frozen in time, her eyes blurring as she tries to focus on the man—or the ghost—standing so close to her. He's smiling. "I think I've dreamt about you. I think I've _been_ dreaming about you. For a long time."

Mal's resolve is leaking along with her energy. She finds herself leaning more and more into Ben, allowing his warmth to shield her from the wind. "Dreaming about me?" she says mistily. "What does that mean?"

"It started when I turned ten," he explains, his mouth close enough to her ear that he does not need to shout to be heard above the howling wind. "The night of my birthday, I dreamt of a girl with skin so soft and pale, and eyes as green as the springtime leaves. I had no idea what it meant, but this girl came to me almost every night and invaded my sleeping mind. Even though Audrey was eventually with me, I was always, always dreaming of this girl. Then you came to the castle and I couldn't believe what I was seeing."

Mal lifts her arms and hugs the Prince closer to her body as he tells his tale, unsure of what has come over her. She only knows how badly she needs to be near him. It is as if without him she will perish.

"You were the girl in my dreams," he says, pulling slightly away. They are looking at each other again. Mal is sure there are tears in her eyes—she is an emotional wreck; she is sick and tired and hungry—but her body is so numb she cannot feel a thing. "I know what it means now. My mother may have promised us, but I think it was in the stars long before she made her decree."

Mal knows it is dangerous, but she believes the Prince. He is smiling wide. He is giddy with excitement. How could she not believe him?

But . . .

"What does this change?" she asks. "I am no ruler of Auradon. I am still the direct descendant of Maleficent. I still want to run."

"It doesn't have to change anything," the Prince—Ben—says, smiling still wider. "I am telling you these things so you will let me come with you. I want to be with you Mal, and I think, maybe, you want to be with me too."

"What makes you think that?" she says sharply.

"I can't be the only one," he responds, "to whom those dreams came."

Is he right, Mal wonders. Did I dream of him before we met?

Closing her eyes, Mal searches her remembered dreams for any sign of the Prince's face.

"You aren't," Mal sighs, slowly unlocking her eyelids. She has found him buried deep in her mind, from before he came to the field with Audrey. His blue eyes were kind even in her sleep. "You aren't the only one," she clarifies.

Ben dips his head, knocking his forehead against hers. "It is fate, then, Mal. Do you believe me?"

"It doesn't matter if I believe you. This is all too much. Your mother . . . if she found us"—

Ben does not allow her to finish her sentence. He moves his head just so, and their lips hover like two butterflies, centimetres apart. She can no longer see him clearly. His face has become a blur—he is so close.

But she feels his breath entering her parted lips, and she has no choice but to breathe in his warmth. And then, as if gravity has left him no choice, his mouth drops gently over hers.

Mal's eyes widen in shock before shutting of their own accord. She melts into Ben, going limp in his grasp. She has read of kisses before. Of commoners being swept off their feet by gallant princes, but none of her books, none of her times watching as Ben laid his mouth on Audrey's, prepared her for this.

This: True Love's Kiss.

She knows it as it happens. Knows beyond anything this kiss is magical unlike any power she has ever wielded. As the Prince moves his searing, soft lips in time with hers, the wind falls away. The storm raging inside of Mal calms instantly. Her mother's voice goes silent. What was once broken is suddenly healed.

When Ben pulls back, his nose brushing hers, his eyes are alight. They nearly burn through Mal. She focuses on them as she tries working out if this is a hallucination brought about by extreme exhaustion and fatigue, or if this—True Love's Kiss—has actually happened. She runs her hands up Ben's spine, feels the fabric of his shirt beneath her fingertips, and urgently cradles his face. His cheeks are smooth and wet, his mouth is swollen and shaded red. He is as real as the tower which kept her prisoner for eighteen years. As real as the moon shining down upon them.

Mal, overwhelmed, smiles up at Ben. Her Prince. Her True Love. She laughs, releasing his face and pressing a hand against his heart. It beats erratically into her palm; further proof this is no cruel dream.

"I'm here," he tells her, laughing as well.

Looking up at him, Mal nods. "Yes, you are. You're here and you love me," she says, still confounded.

"I do," Ben says, wrapping his hands around Mal's. She no longer fears he will snap her in two. "I love you."

"I—I love you too," Mal confesses breathlessly, sure now and unafraid of her feelings for her Prince.

Bringing his lips level with hers, Ben kisses her once more. Lighter this time and shorter, but enough to capture Mal's every thought.

"Come back to the castle with me," he says, breaking the kiss.

Mal tilts her head up, her face swathed in confusion. "No," she says. "I can't go back there. Your mother"—

—"Don't think of my mother. Think of us," he says, and Mal is compelled to do as he asks. "My birthday is tomorrow. A wedding has been planned for nearly two decades. It would be rude of us not to make an appearance."

The moonlight above casts harsh shadows over Ben's features. He looks almost like a wild beast, snarling at her.

But he is only smiling, and that smile manages to melt away Mal's fear of returning to her captor. Once, the idea of marrying Prince Benjamin of Auradon had ignited a fierce flame of hatred that sat, burning inside of her for nearly eighteen years. An arranged marriage went against every fibre of her soul. And to the son of the woman who took her from her mother when she was a babe in arms—Mal would grow weary, her body weighed down by anger, just thinking of the horrendous situation.

The situation has changed, though. Drastically and quickly. Mal no longer looks upon the Prince with contempt. Perhaps it is foolish of her, but with her heart fluttering in her chest and her body warm with love, Mal carefully nods her head.

"You'll come back with me?" He is smiling so wide Mal worries his face will tear.

"I will. For you. And tomorrow, after we are married, we will go away from this place until we are needed as its rulers."

Ben envelopes Mal, holding her closer to him than she has ever been before. She buries her heavy head against his chest, breathing in his scent. "I can agree to those terms," he says, stroking her matted hair. His voice is soft in her ear.

And so the pair separate, their hands moving together, their shared sight set on the castle.

* * *

 **Part vi: The Curse**

It is past midnight when Mal and Ben return to the castle. Despite the late hour, there are soldiers from the Royal Guard walking about frantically, their swords banging against their legs as they move through the castle, yet unawares there are two people standing inside the doors. It is not until the doors crash to a close that everybody startles to a halt. A dozen pairs of eyes immediately direct themselves towards Mal and Ben, with several other guards moving into the entryway as quick as their feet can carry them. Recognising Ben as the future King of Auradon, the soldiers suddenly and in perfect synchronisation fall on bended knee.

Mal creeps closer to Ben so there is no longer any space between them, fear trickling into her body as she wonders what will happen when the guards figure out who the wild, woodland creature is standing beside their beloved prince. Ben holds her to him, picking up on how tense she has become since they entered the castle.

One guard, one of the guards who went to the forest and nearly found Mal, rises from the floor. "Your highness," he says, stepping forward.

Mal instinctively moves back, taking the Prince with her. As she moves, as Prince Benjamin moves with her, there is a sudden struggle as the soldiers clamber to their feet and draw their weapons. Their swords point directly at Mal. She can sense their hatred, their terror. It is tangible in the air and so predictable. What did the Queen tell them to frighten them like this? Perhaps, however, it was nothing more than a name falling from the mouth of the Queen that caused them to shake in their uniform boots.

 _Maleficent_.

Ben, as the soldiers' swords wave in Mal's face, moves in front of her. "Weapons down," he says fiercely.

The Royal Guard stare at Ben in confusion, their stances never wavering.

"Sir," says the one who stood first, Carlos, "back away from the witch."

The witch. Of course. Save the Prince from the terrifying, battered witch.

"Her name is Mal," Ben says. "She is no more dangerous than I. Weapons _down_!"

"Weapons raised, men. Keep them up."

A new voice. A familiar voice.

Queen Belle.

Mal looks over Ben's shoulder, watching as the Queen, dressed in a breathtakingly gorgeous blue gown, races elegantly down the stairs. Mal is truly fearful now. She shivers behind her love.

"Mother," Ben says, "tell them to stand down."

The Queen's tongue makes a clicking noise. She reaches Ben and Mal, her hand going out to stroke her son's cheek. "My dear, I can't do that," she sighs. "She has been given too many chances. Now come, love, step away."

Mal's grip on the Prince tightens, the same as his does on her.

"I won't," he says, cautious.

Unreserved anger inflames the Queen's usually pale face. No longer is she the generous, kind Queen the public knows. She turns towards the soldiers. "Away, all of you!" she shrieks, and the Royal Guard, probably used to her sudden bouts of rage, scatter like frightened pests. They are gone within moments and Queen Belle once again faces Mal and Ben. Nostrils flaring, she looks moments away from imploding. "Go to your room, Benjamin. Now. That is an order."

Ben stands taller. "Look at the clock, Mother. I'm not a child anymore. You can't tell me what to do."

Mal wants to pull Ben away—it was a mistake coming here; they should leave now and start afresh someplace far, far away from Auradon's toxic walls—but she is paralysed, not able to move a single muscle. It is fascination stopping her from going through with her plan. She has only known the King to defy his wife. Never, Mal assumes, has her own son been daring enough to do the same.

The Queen is motionless as well, undeniably for the same reason as Mal. She blinks at Ben, her sweet son, her jaw tightly clenched. The apples of her cheeks go red. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, bulge.

"Your room, Benjamin," she says through her teeth. Her voice is quiet, but Mal senses danger looming.

Ben stands a little taller. He stares at his mother and utters, "No."

The Queen is motionless no longer. With a loud, screeching howl she lunges forward and pushes Ben away from Mal. He falls hard to the marble ground. Mal reaches for him, but Queen Belle gets to her before she can go to him, grabbing at the weakened girl and dragging her by her matted, purple hair towards the base of the grand staircase.

Yelping in pain, Mal claws at her captor's wrists, but her grip is unrelenting. The Queen brings her arm down, forcing Mal to kneel before her. Mal looks up at the monster. Her eyes have grown cold. Mal has known her as the woman who tore her away from her mother. The woman who kept her locked away for eighteen years. But she has never seen such evil in her. She is drenched in the stuff.

Queen Belle pulls her arm again. Mal's scalp erupts. "Don't move, sweetheart," she says, looking at where Ben landed. "This doesn't have anything to do with you."

"Like hell it doesn't," Mal hisses, tears singeing the corners of her eyes.

The Queen, startled by Mal's voice, drops her arm. "You dare speak to me," she says, incredulous. "I am your queen, you insufferable, horrid child!" With this, Queen Belle lifts her hand and quickly, harshly slaps Mal across the cheek.

Mal's head moves jerkily to the right. A sharp pang slices into her and she feels hot blood spill across her cheek. As she swings back, as Mal, through the ringing in her ears, hears Ben begging his mother to stop, the Queen captures Mal's chin and holds her head in place. Her sharp nails dig deep into Mal's relenting flesh, but Mal refuses to show even the smallest hint of pain. She stares down the Queen defiantly, pushing through the sickness in her stomach and the whirring in her head.

"You aren't my queen," Mal says, tearing her face away from Queen Belle's clasp. "You never were," she continues. She rises slowly to her feet. The Queen, startled, takes a quivering step back.

"Don't move another inch. I could have the entire Royal Guard in here with one snap of my fingers."

Mal sneers. "Do you know how I escaped this place?"

"Of course I do," the Queen laughs. "You're the daughter of Maleficent, my dear. No silly spell could ever be enough to squash your powers. I only had to make you believe they were bound. It worked, didn't it? Took you eighteen years to figure out."

Mal's eyes start burning. Around her, things are shrouded in a white haze.

"Do it then," Mal hears the Queen taunt. "Ignite the whole of Auradon with your disgusting powers."

The burning sensation disappears. "No," Mal snaps. "I won't."

Queen Belle tilts her head. "Your mother would be disappointed. Even _I_ am disappointed. I thought you were the daughter of pure evil."

"Mother, enough," Ben chimes.

Mal presses on. "I'm not my mother's daughter, though, am I? I am a daughter of the wilderness, of books, thanks to you. But I love your son," she says, looking briefly at her beloved, "and in the morning I will be his wife. Auradon will be safe with me as its queen when you, you wicked monster, and your husband die. Until that day, however, Ben and I will travel. We will see the great world together, far away from this toxic wasteland. I will not be held down by you any longer, Queen Belle."

The smugness evaporates from the Queen's face. "You can't leave. Neither of you can leave."

"We can," Mal says, listening as Ben moves towards her. He reaches her, taking her hand in his. His thumb is soothing against her knuckles. "We will. There is nothing you can do to stop us. I am more powerful than you. More powerful than the Fairy Godmother. I swear, I will use my magic against you if you force my hand."

"When your father gets back"— Queen Belle starts to say, but Ben cuts her off.

—"No more of this, Mother. I stand by Mal."

Clinging to Ben, Mal presses forward, moving past the stunned Queen of Auradon with her True Love in tow. They climb the many stairs until they reach the Prince's chambers. Inside, Ben takes her to his lavatory and sits her down on the edge of the bath.

Kneeling before her, he takes her chin softly and examines her wound.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, rising to his feet. He finds some cream and a white washcloth. Wetting it, he returns to his knees.

"No," she gasps as he presses the cloth against her cheek. He swipes gently at the blood and clears the scratch.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, the two words holding a myriad of connotations. He bows his head.

Mal presses two fingers beneath his jaw, lifting his head until his gorgeous eyes meet hers. She drops her hand. "You have never done anything wrong, and I won't listen to you apologise for the sins of your mother."

"She's as wicked as any villain on the Isle," Ben says, returning to the task at hand. Placing the cloth in his basin, he takes the cream and squeezes a small amount onto the tip of his index finger. He rubs the tender laceration until the cream melts. "There. All done."

Mal's hands on his shoulders stop him from standing. She leans forward, emboldened, and kisses him. Excitement stretches through her body. Her fingertips tingle. Quickly, Ben yields to her, coiling his arms around her waist, opening his mouth to offer her his breath.

She takes it willingly, gladly, breathing him in until she feels stronger than she has since arriving at this castle a mere seven days ago.

When they break, the Prince is smiling. "I have something I want to show you before we retire," he says.

"So," Mal says, "show me."

He takes her to a hidden part of the castle. Another secret passageway built by his father. Mal has no idea where they are when they emerge into a large, stonewalled room decorated with artefacts and trophies. For all she knows, they could be in another building entirely. It did feel as though they had been walking forever.

Ben guides her out of the passageway, grinning like the child he no longer is.

"What is this place?" she asks.

"My father's museum," Ben explains. "It holds all of Auradon's history."

Mal looks around the cold room in awe. Nearly everything from her fairytale books is here. A half-eaten apple. A golden slipper. A lock of straw-coloured hair. Guided by her Prince, Mal digests each object, listening as Ben explains their origin. She listens to him speak happily. Already she knows the stories, but she is far too struck by his calming voice to reveal herself.

They reach the far end of the room as Ben's voice starts croaking. He says he has never spoken so much, and his throat isn't accustomed to being abused in this manner.

"This is what I wanted you to see," he rasps.

"Oh, Ben," Mal falters. It is a magnificent wooden spinning wheel. Her mother's weapon of choice.

"You said downstairs that you weren't your mother's daughter, and I suddenly remembered that my father kept this," Ben says. "I want you to see it—to know that you are more than she will ever be."

Mal keeps her eyes locked on the cursed object. She reaches out and runs the tip of her pointer finger down the large wheel. The wood is smooth and warm—

—"Mal, put your hand down."

Mal hears the Prince's voice and shifts to look at him. His eyes are wide and he is staring at her outstretched arm. Turning her head away, she watches as her hand moves and poises itself above the spindle of the wooden spinning wheel.

How strange, she thinks to herself. She cocks her head, mystified by the sharp object before her. She must touch it. She _must_.

"Mallory."

The Prince, again.

"Mal, put your hand down. Please."

"I can't," she says, only her voice comes out not as her own. She doesn't sound like herself, not even to her own ears, but she cannot dwell on that. She can do nothing else until she touches the spindle.

She is not scared as her finger descends upon the needle. She feels no pain when the needle pierces her skin. She feels only a release; a rush of something.

"No!"

Mal turns away from the spinning wheel. Before her stands a strange sight. Prince Benjamin of Auradon's face is as white as the sheet's on Mal's bed in the castle. His mouth hangs open, as if someone has pulled his jaw apart. His nostrils flutter like a butterfly's wings. She saw a butterfly once in her tower. It came right up to her the open space, presenting its gorgeous, velvety blue and black colouring. Before too long it had decided to leave, and thus showed Mal its freedom by batting those blue and black wings until it was far out of sight.

How she despised that butterfly.

The Prince is frozen. "What's happening?" he asks.

"What do you mean?" Mal implores, her wrists twitching.

"Your eyes," he says. "And your hands."

Mal looks to her hands and sees lines of black lightning spark around her fingers. She looks back at the Prince. "It won't hurt," she hears herself say. "I promise it won't hurt. Like falling asleep."

"Like falling asleep?"

"Dying," she says. "It'll be like falling asleep."

Springing into action, the Prince grabs her by the shoulders roughly. His fingers gnash like teeth into her thin flesh and he jerks her so hard her head snaps back and forth. "Wake up, Mal!" he shrieks. He stops thrashing, but he does not let her go. His hands slip to her cheeks. He holds her there, forcing her to look at him. "Wake up! The spindle . . . I don't know how, but it's cursed you."

Mal's breathing grows ragged. She blinks in quick succession, slowly coming aware of her surroundings. "Something's wrong," she gasps, seizing her prince's wrists. "Something's happening to me. I can feel her inside of me."

"Feel who?"

"My mother." She is there, bathing in Mal's blood. She has poisoned Mal with her wickedness and evil. Mal holds Ben tighter. "I have to kill you," she splutters, hysteric. Saltwater gathers in her eyes, forming teardrops that cling to her lashes. "It's the curse. I have to kill you."

Of course, Mal thinks, looking into Ben's eyes. Of course this is the gift Maleficent wishes to leave with her daughter. Somehow, she must have escaped her shackles before her banishment and found her beloved spinning wheel.

What would destroy the King and Queen, she must have thought. How do I enact my revenge from the Isle.

An eye for an eye. A child for a child. And she left her dear, departed daughter to fulfil the task.

"You don't have to hurt me," the Prince says. He presses his open palm on her face, moving her tangled hair out of her dripping eyes. "You can fight this. You are stronger than her."

Mal shakes her head. "I'm not. I'm not stronger. You have to get away from me before I hurt you."

"I won't," Ben objects. "I'm staying here with you until we figure out how to break the curse."

"No," Mal says, her lips quivering. The curse is thrashing away inside of her belly. It hurts. It feels as though someone is digging a jagged knife into her. "You don't understand. The only way to get rid of the curse is to do its bidding."

Mal will not have this any longer. Wrenching herself away from Ben, she pushes him as hard as she can. He stumbles, falling back into one of the displays. A line of golden thread curls by Ben's side. Mal looks at her hands as they continue sparking. Her vision begins to blur, casting a shade of blinding white over her surroundings.

 _Do it, my love_ , her mother calls. _Kill him_. _When it is done_ , _you can join me and we can once again be together_.

"No, Mal!"

Hearing Ben's broken voice, the frightened Mal, through her partial blindness, sees her betrothed getting to his feet and shrieks at him to stop. "I can't control it," she cries, her voice strained.

"You can, Mal," he insists, like he _knows_. He doesn't.

"No," she says, defeated. She chokes on her words. "This has to happen. I have to do this. It's a part of me."

 _Yes, child_. _Do it now_. _Quickly_ , _before that wretched woman finds you_.

Ben is in front of her, the fool. He reaches out. He almost touches her. "I love you," he says, and she sees glistening crystals slipping down the bridge of his nose.

"You," Mal chokes, her lungs tight. "I love you. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Please, don't be sorry. We'll fix this. The Fairy Godmother, _someone_ , will fix this. They'll make you better"—

But the Prince is not able to finish his sentence. With a loud, shrill scream, the curse explodes out of Mal. Her hands rise and the world around her goes white. Pointed at Ben, dark magic flies through the air from the tips of her fingers and strikes his heart.

Mal's vision returns in time for her to witness Ben slump forward to the ground, dead.

"No!" comes Mal's piercing cry.

Flying to where the Prince lies on the floor, Mal falls to her knees by his body. She turns him over, her shaking hands hovering over his chest. She cannot see him, but it has nothing to do with the curse. No, the curse is gone. She is free now. Maleficent's voice is silent in her ear. Her eyes, however, are blinded by tears.

In the distance, Mal hears running. Charging.

The Guard have come to find her. They burst through the door, filing inside the museum one by one, swords drawn, the Queen closing them out.

"My baby!" Queen Belle squeals as she sets eyes on Ben's motionless, pale body. "You've killed my baby, you foul demon! Guards, kill her. Here. Now!" The Queen rushes toward Mal, but she stretches out her arms and cradles the Prince. Presses her ear against his quiet heart.

"Don't make me leave him," she pleads.

The Queen has never been kind to Mal. Never has she looked upon the purple-haired girl with affection or even indifference. It has always been hatred. Loathing.

Tonight is something entirely different. The Queen looks down at Mal, her eyes burning with fire, and all Mal can see is straight depravity. Pure evil. Villainy.

"I should kill you myself," the Queen says. "I should slit your throat and watch as you bleed out, gasping for help. Get up!"

The Queen tugs on her arm, but Mal has it locked around Ben. "Don't make me leave him," she repeats, tears splashing over the charred portion of the Prince's breast.

"Somebody help me!" Queen Belle orders, and the two guards Mal saw in the forest come to her aid. They each grab a part of Mal and pull.

"I won't leave him!" Mal cries, feeling another burst of power surging through her. As the room goes white, she hears grunts and thumps as the Queen and the guards closest to her fly back. Forcing herself even further into Ben's body, she weeps freely, wishing her tears could somehow soften them both enough for her to crawl inside of him and perish herself.

"That is _it_!" The Queen bellows as she gets to her feet. Mal hears the sharp sound of a sword being drawn. "I will do this myself. You have taken too much from me, you bitch! On the count of three: One, two"—

The Queen is cut off by a loud gasp. Beneath Mal, the Prince's chest suddenly expands. She flies up, watching in shock the pink return to his skin.

He looks up at Mal, his face drenched in her tears. There is no hatred in his gaze. Only what she has come to know as love. Lifting his arm, he strokes her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Don't cry, my love," he says, and Mal, jaw unhinged, trembles. She grabs his hand and presses it against her mouth.

"You're alive. You're alive," she says. Over and over and over.

* * *

 **Part vii: The End**

"Say it again," Mal asks. Behind her, Ben smiles. She cannot see it, but the room always grows warmer whenever he smiles.

Touching the roots of her wet hair with the bristles of a hairbrush, Ben runs the brush down to the tips. "The Fairy Godmother says only the tears of your True Love can bring you back to life," he says, and she can hear that smile. It is enough to make her smile.

Immediately after the Prince awoke, the Queen collapsed. She fell back into a member of the Royal Guard and slept for several minutes. The first words out of her mouth when she arose were a call for Mal's demise which was overturned by Ben after a long verbal battle Mal could hear locked all the way in her room. When Queen Belle finally relented, Ben came to find her and took her to his bed where he told her they would be safe in the morning after the wedding ceremony to leave Auradon.

Distantly, Mal hears the grandfather clock downstairs in the entryway chime out. Two o'clock in the morning. Some time has passed since Ben lay dead in Mal's arms, and they have been allowed, begrudgingly, to spend the night together. They are both showered—clean now of the grime that coated them earlier, and dressed in fresh nightclothes—and well fed. When they returned to his chamber, which is a cosy oasis compared to her room, Ben asked if he could comb through her tangled hair as they talked, so here they sit, Ben's nimble fingers guiding a brush down her scalp.

Mal is not truly there, though. Her mind is wandering far off, quivering with guilt and fear. Surely sensing this, Ben halts his activity and places the brush on his dark wood bedside table. He rests his chin securely on her shoulder. Their cheeks touch, and Mal is positive he can feel the hot blood pressed against her skin. She tilts into him, closing her eyes and shivering out of worry for her and Ben's future. How does one's week-old relationship mend after one party has murdered the other against their combined will?

"I'm so sorry," she says for the countless time since the Prince breathed new life.

"Hey." Ben lifts his chin. Opening her eyes, Mal turns over on the bed and faces Ben. His blue eyes are kind, and instantly a portion of her unease washes away. Ben reaches out to her and wipes the single tear trickling down her face, his thumb tracing the small scratch left by his mother. "Remember what the Fairy Godmother said, Mal."

She does remember. According to the Fairy Godmother, Maleficent's curse had been lying dormant inside of Mal since the wicked spell had been cast eighteen years previous. All of the anger Mal felt growing up, all of the evil she could have sworn she possessed, was simply a side effect of such a powerful curse. Mal had felt something give way when she blindly threw the curse in Ben's direction. Like a malignant tumour growing inside of her, polluting everything within her, had vanished.

She could breathe again when she completed her mother's bidding.

In spite of this, her resentment against Queen Belle has risen tenfold. That will never disappear. Her hatred of the Queen is wholly unrelated to her mother's curse.

But still, Mal feels lighter as she sits in front of her beloved. She feels _good_. For the first time in her life, she is undoubtedly happy.

"I love you," Ben says. He has been saying it again and again since the curse broke. It is his mantra, Mal believes.

"I love you," she responds. It is her mantra too. It keeps the demons at bay.

Smiling, Ben leans forward and kisses her gently. Warmth blooms inside of her, setting her body ablaze, and she opens her mouth to deepen the kiss. Tongues tangled in a desperate sort of dance, Mal snakes her arms around Ben's neck. She holds him there, sighing into his mouth when his fingers dig into her waist, hoping to convey just how much she needs him. How much she has come to love him in the days since they met.

She does not know why, but her hands go from his neck to the hem of his nightshirt. Slipping underneath the soft fabric, her fingers explore the soft skin of his belly. He tenses under her touch, but does not stop her. She goes further. Up and down, Mal feels every centimetre of his body above his hips. Eventually, she grows tired of his nightshirt and goes to lift it off of him completely.

"Whoa," Ben says, breathless. He breaks their kiss. Mal, holding tight to his shirt, stares at him wide-eyed. His pupils have expanded so there is only a small sliver of blue to be seen. She wonders if her eyes are the same. "Is this . . . is this okay?"

Mal understands what he is asking even without him saying the words. Mal has read books which talk of men and women ridding themselves of their clothes. She has witnessed the man in front of her taking part in various activities with another girl. Tonight, she wants this. After all they have been through, she _needs_ this. This connection—this unbreakable bond.

Nodding, Mal says, "Yes."

Her single word is enough for the Prince. He dives forward, taking her mouth captive. They separate for only a second longer when Mal urgently pulls his nightshirt over his head. As their mouths continue moving in harmony, Mal unties the knot holding Ben's trousers. He does not ask her any more questions. He only guides her fingers.

Before she can tug his trousers, Ben's hands rest atop her thighs. His fingers burn her skin. Tomorrow, beneath her wedding dress, her thighs will have blackened marks where the Prince pressed his fiery fingertips into her. Her nightdress has ridden up and Ben pushes it up, up, up until it is beneath her neck. Bravely, her heart pounding like the galloping feet of a horse, Mal raises her arms and allows the Prince to expose her body.

"Beautiful," he marvels, diving to kiss her chest.

Mal gasps sharply, eyes rolling back. She claws at Ben's shoulders, tangles her hands in his dark locks. Her body aches as the Prince moves his lips over her body.

Before too long, they are both bare. Nothing separates them anymore.

Their ardent gazes locked, the Prince above her, Mal bites her tongue as he fills her smoothly.

Blood pours beneath her skin, turning it pink. Ben moves slowly, tenderly, kissing the tears that slip into her hair.

As they move together, their souls become entangled. Mal feels herself slipping further and further into the Prince until she is sure they have melted into one. She does not mind the sensation. No, she adores it.

Mal's body tightens. At first, she fears it is another curse coiling inside of her belly, but after floating on the ocean's surface, she feels sweet relief. She slips beneath the waves, her quiet whimpering swallowed by the Prince's mouth.

Ben's voice pulls her out of the water.

"Mal," he says.

She does not know how long she was drowning, but she feels as if perhaps she has died and is now in that place called Heaven. Where all is well and joy abounds.

Mal glances up, her eyes immediately finding Ben's. His pupils are no longer suffocating his irises. One arm holding him up, he strokes her jaw with his free hand.

"Is this love?" she asks him.

Ben laughs softly and kisses the tip of her nose. "Yes," he says, "this is love."

Continuing to recover, the pair spend the next little while talking, locked away in their bubble from the rest of the world. Alone in Ben's room, they are rulers of their own Kingdom. Eventually, the trials of the day, of a shared lifetime, wear on them, and they switch off the lights and crawl beneath the covers.

Ben holds Mal as they sleep. He keeps his arm wrapped around her, holding her naked body to his. Knowing they will be married come morning and free to wander the earth, she rests peacefully in her Prince's arms.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for your patience. It is so gratefully appreciated. You honestly have no idea how difficult it was to not only find time to get this chapter written, but to also just . . . write this chapter. Endings are not my strong suit, and it really showed as I tried finishing this story.

I hope the ending was satisfactory to you all. For those curious as to why it took place over such a short amount of time, I based the plot off of fairytales which are typically very brief.

And if anybody wants to know why it took so long to write this, I suggest you go to my tumblr account (I'm not very active) which is Rebelandhercaptain and read the post entitled "An Open Letter to Lizzywhitewolf." Oh, and the quote at the top is from a song called "Fade Into You" from the show Nashville. I don't watch the show, but that song always gives me the chills.

Again, thank you so much. So, so, so much. For your continued support and your patience.

Until next time, guys.

Bethany


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